


Illuminations on a Rainy Day

by Elorianna



Series: Never-Ending Spirals [1]
Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Milex - Fandom
Genre: EYCTE nostalgia, M/M, Melancholy fluff, Memories, Milex Big Bang, Platonic Relationship, blond Miles, canonesque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elorianna/pseuds/Elorianna
Summary: On a rainy Sunday, Alex just wants to read his book in peace. Miles is restless and won't let him be. A moment of closeness leads to quiet reminiscence about a summer long past...
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Series: Never-Ending Spirals [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571212
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54
Collections: Milex Big Bang 2019





	Illuminations on a Rainy Day

**_– London, October 2019 –_ **

Alex couldn’t concentrate.

He was sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, doing everything in his power to give the impression that he was deeply engrossed in his book – but it was all to no avail. Miles was apparently incapable of taking the hint.

“Come on, Al,” he said. “I’m bored.”

Alex sighed. “I told ya already, I need to finish this first. If you’re bored then why don’t ya go out?”

“I can’t go out, it’s pissing it down. I’ll ruin me shoes.”

“So, wear different shoes.”

“These are the shoes that go with this outfit though.”

Alex peered over the top of his book. Miles was wearing little silver ankle boots with a wedged heel, which he’d paired inexplicably with black dungarees and one of his own branded t-shirts. If there was an important reason as to why the whole ensemble just _had_ to be paired with little silver boots, Alex couldn’t see it.

He flicked his gaze from Miles to the window. The light that filtered into the living room was grey, and the rain was streaking endlessly down the glass. Miles was staring out at it with such a forlorn expression that Alex almost took pity on him. He knew how much Miles hated to be cooped up inside when it was raining. It made him restless, antsy and irritable. That was just too bad, though; Alex was busy and Miles would simply have to find his own entertainment.

Alex returned his attention to his book, licked his thumb and turned over the page. There was blissful silence… for approximately thirty seconds.

“What are yeh readin’ over there anyway?” Miles said.

“The same fuckin’ sentence over and over because you won’t be quiet.”

Miles groaned. He left the window and began to wander aimlessly around the room. Alex could hear him as he shuffled about, picking things up and putting them down again. He tried to ignore it, but after a minute or so Miles drifted back over towards the sofa and his shadow fell right across the page that Alex was trying to read.

“Miles,” he said. “You’re in my light.”

“Can’t ‘elp that,” Miles said. “I’ve nowhere else to be.”

Alex gritted his teeth. “Look, just sit down, would ya? Stop looming over me like a bloody portent of doom.”

Miles made a noise of exasperation and flumped down unnecessarily hard on the sofa. He leaned across and started trying to read over Alex’s shoulder. “What is that? Poetry?”

Alex moved the book away from him. “Yeah, it’s poetry, now shush can’t you?”

“What’re yeh readin’ poetry for?”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Because,” he said, “I thought it might give me a bit of inspiration for some new stuff I’m tryin’ to write.” He gave Miles a pointed look. “Happy?”

Miles looked chastened. “Sorry, like,” he said. “Didn’t realise you were working.” He moved back to the other side of the sofa and folded his arms. He stared down at his silver boots with a glum expression.

Alex sighed inwardly. That was just perfect. How was he supposed to concentrate now, with Miles sat there with the sad eyes and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy?

He muttered a quiet curse and took his feet down off the coffee table. “Miles,” he said. “Come ‘ere.”

Miles looked up at him. “What?”

Alex moved to stretch himself out long-ways on the sofa. “Just come ‘ere and lie down.”

Miles gave him a dubious look, but after a moment he crawled up so that they were lying side by side. Alex lifted his arm so that Miles could lean against him. He transferred his book to one hand and used the other to ruffle his fingers through the newly bleached strands of Miles’s hair.

It felt different to touch, now that it was blond. It was less smooth, and it had a drier texture. The colour suited him though – or at least, Alex thought so. He hadn’t liked it much at first, but once he’d gotten over the initial shock of the change, the new style had actually grown on him pretty fast. That was just Miles all over though, wasn’t it? He seemed able to pull off any look he wanted with minimal effort, no matter how outrageous or flamboyant that look might be.

Alex’s days of flamboyant dressing were, thankfully, long behind him; he didn’t have the energy to make those kinds of efforts any more. But Miles, he never stopped making an effort. He never ran out of energy for anything. He was like the bloody Duracell bunny.

Miles shifted position. “That feels nice,” he said quietly.

Alex realised he was still stroking his fingers through Miles’s hair. He stopped.

“D’yeh like me new hair?” Miles said.

“You know I do. I told ya I liked it.”

“You never did, Al.”

Alex frowned. “Oh,” he said. “Well I do. It looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

Miles settled his head against Alex’s chest. Alex switched his attention back towards his book and resumed reading, and for some minutes there was peace. The quiet atmosphere was disturbed only by the soft patter of the rain against the windows, the intermingled sounds of their breathing, and the occasional papery rustle as Alex turned a page.

Miles began to trace a pattern on Alex’s shirt with his fingers. “I like this,” he said.

“It’s an old shirt, Miles.”

“Not the shirt – this.”

Alex kept his eyes on his book. He knew what Miles meant. He supposed it _had_ been quite a long time since the two of them had last shared such an intimate space. That sort of thing had always felt so natural back when they were touring with the Puppets. It had never been a big deal for them to share a hotel bed or bunk up together on the bus. They’d gotten so used to it, living practically on top of each other, day in and day out, that personal space had to all intents and purposes become a foreign concept.

But all that was a very long time ago now. More than three years, in fact. Sometimes, it felt like longer.

Miles’s fingers trailed across Alex’s waist. “Al?” he said.

“What?”

“Do you… ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“You know.”

Alex didn’t answer for a moment. He turned over the page. “There’s nothing to miss,” he said. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

Miles sighed. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not doin’ owt.”

“Yes you are,” Miles said.

Alex bit back a retort. He didn’t want to get into an argument. He just wanted to read his bloody book. The last thing he wanted to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon was dig over old ground. He didn’t want to disturb his peace by unearthing hazy memories that felt like they belonged to a different place and time; a place and time where once, briefly, certain things had seemed possible which no longer seemed so.

“Why don’t you just take a nap?” he said. “I’ll be done with this soon and then we can go for food.”

“I’m not sleepy enough for a nap.”

“You were yawning earlier.”

“That’s because I’m _bored_ ,” Miles said. He toyed idly with the buttons on Alex’s shirt as he spoke.

Alex frowned. “I can’t do anythin’ about that right now,” he said. “I’m reading.”

Miles sighed. He stopped messing with the buttons and draped his arm loosely across Alex’s waist instead. “You could read to me?” he said.

Alex shook his head. “I’m not readin’ to you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just poetry, Miles. You won’t like it.”

“You always used to read to me,” Miles said. “Do yeh remember?”

Alex closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I remember.”

Of course he did. He could still picture vividly the early morning sunrises on the bus, and the way the rosy light had pooled through the gaps in the blinds. He could still recall the warm darkness of their bunk, Miles nestled in the crook of his arm half dozing while Alex read to him from whatever he’d had closest to hand. Conrad sometimes, or more often Hemingway. Miles had never really minded what it was, and whenever Alex had demurred about it, Miles had just smiled a sleepy smile, pressed himself closer against Alex’s side and murmured in his ear. _I just like the sound of yer voice, Al. Go on, read me some more. Please?_

Alex opened his eyes again. The light in the room seemed to have grown greyer, and the rain was tapping more heavily on the glass. He glanced down at Miles and noticed that his expression had grown somewhat distant. Perhaps he too was recalling the memories of that long ago summer on the road. Everything had been so different for them, back then. They’d had different thoughts, different aspirations. They’d been different people.

Alex paused for a moment, and then he moved his hand tentatively back into Miles’s hair. He allowed the coarse strands of it to slip between his fingers, and he rubbed his fingertips gently back and forth across Miles’s scalp. Miles exhaled softly, and then he yawned and closed his eyes.

“Al?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Please read to me.”

Alex sighed. “If I read you one poem,” he said, “will you promise me that you’ll be quiet until I’m finished with this book?”

Miles nodded, his eyes still closed. “I promise,” he said.

“Fine, then.”

Alex rested the book on his chest and began to thumb through the pages one-handed, searching for something that wasn’t too long. He continued to massage gentle circles into Miles’s scalp with his other hand as he did so. He felt Miles’s arm tighten ever so slightly around his waist, and the warm weight of it was comforting and familiar. It stirred something in him which he thought he’d long ago laid to rest. For a moment, he could almost imagine that they were back on that bus, huddled together in a bunk that was really too small to accommodate two bodies, though at the time neither of them had cared. The bus’s broken air conditioning unit had made the air stuffy and close, but they hadn’t cared about that either. While the summer had blazed outside, the bunk’s curtains had wrapped them in an artificial darkness, and the gentle vibrations of the wheels on the asphalt had hummed beneath them as they moved.

Alex’s fingers came to rest upon a poem in the very middle of the book. It was a short one that only took up half a page. It wouldn’t take him long to read it. He folded the front cover back on itself, tilted the book towards the light and began to recite in a low voice.

_“I loved thee, though I told thee not,  
_ _Right earlily and long,  
_ _Thou wert my joy in every spot,  
_ _My theme in every song._

_And when I saw a stranger face  
_ _Where beauty held the claim,  
_ _I gave it like a secret grace  
_ _The being of thy name._

_And all the charms of face or voice  
_ _Which I in others see_  
 _Are but the recollected choice  
_ _Of what I felt for thee.”_

The words faded into the quiet. Miles remained still at Alex’s side, and for some time neither of them spoke. Alex turned his gaze towards the window and stared out at the rain. It had dwindled to a gentle patter once more, and from somewhere in the distance came the occasional rumble of a passing car. Miles’s breathing was soft and regular, but still he didn’t speak. At last, Alex glanced down at him.

“Miles,” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

Miles gave no sign of having heard him. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, and his chest was rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Alex sat motionless for a little while and watched him breathe. When he eventually uncurled his fingers from where they lay tangled in Miles’s hair, Miles didn’t stir. Alex gazed at him for a few moments more, and then he inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh.

He turned his gaze back towards his book, and quietly flipped over the page.

**Author's Note:**

> Poem: The Secret by John Clare


End file.
